Fragmented Soul
by oca2073
Summary: During the dementor attack in the summer before his fifth year, Harry is unable to find his wand to cast a patronus. Harry survives, but the horcrux within him does not.
1. Chapter 1

"I'll hit you, I swear!" came Dudley's quavering voice in the darkness as a deathly chill enveloped them.

He couldn't move… Heavy blankets of mist was shrouding his every thought and Harry fought to see through the darkness as two hooded figures materialized out of the thick fog and went straight for them, swooping forwards… Dudley started to scream; he couldn't see them but he could definitely feel them.

"Dudley, shut up!" He reached for his wand ready to cast a patronus, but the next second a gigantic fist had appeared in his line of sight. Dudley's aim had been true, his glasses shattered, and he was left staggering dangerously while seeing blood; tottering he couldn't stand and Harry crumpled to the floor, his head crashing painfully on hard concrete.

Still trying to shake off the heavy blow unsuccessfully, his head feeling as if it weighed a mighty ton, Harry vaguely saw his cousin still screaming as a dementor leaned over and above him, hood lowered. And for the first time, he saw the face of a dementor.

It paralyzed him, for nothing could have prepared him for the ghastly sight, not even the face of Lord Voldemort himself that he remembered from the back of Quirrel's head. Harry fought to stand but realized he was missing his wand.

Panic shot all over his spine as he fumbled in the darkness, while behind him the dementor did its work. His cousin's scream slowly receding into sinister silence, Harry couldn't find his wand. And there was still the matter of the second dementor to be worried about. He had to act, had to act or Dudley was a goner.

"Lumos," Harry shouted, hoping against odds. But there was no response. Then he could feel the presence of the second one behind him. Turning his head blearily, he was met face to face with the predator who steadily gazed at him impassively underneath his black hood for a second. Then he lowered it.

Harry started to scream, all thoughts forgotten as the pale face descended upon him. His eyes glued shut from the terror that confronted him, the lips pressing towards him. The gnarled hands, holding him in place. He simply couldn't close his mouth, couldn't stop the scream that was ripped out of him, as the mouth made suction.

Like a clamp, it fastened itself over his lips and he was pulled forward into nothingness. This was the end, he knew it. The last coherent thought that passed through him were the faces of Ron and Hermione, his parents, and then they too dissipated. He couldn't feel… couldn't know… The cold was all consuming, to the very pits of his insides being frozen numb. Nothing could be seen, all warmth was leaving him…

.

He stirred, a blanket of uncertainty and confusion as he could move again. The dementors were gone, their feeling had passed, and yet he was still alive. Harry opened his eyes and found himself lying in the same spot where he had been felled by Dudley. He tried, but failed to stand, the world a whirl of confusing mass of shapes and colours since he didn't have his glasses. Nausea built up within him and he vomited.

And the first vision struck him. He was in an orphanage. He was eight years old, a dirty orphan of eight, the nameless son of nobodies looking into the bright light and the faces of those jeering… He felt himself reach for his magic to punish them and the sight of their terrified faces was the last thing he remembered…

He was at Hogwarts making light intellectual conversation and exchanging pleasantries with Professor Slughorn, head of Slytherin House. From behind him, his foolish admirers Avery, Mulciber, Travers were waiting. A sudden feeling of giddy exhilaration arose, and he finally broached the topic that he longed to ask from a member of Hogwarts' learned faculty…

He was flying, weightless like a black shadowy form in the sky, a trail of smoke was all that he left behind him. He was triumphant, the master of magic, he had accomplished a task that none felt possible, it confirmed his genius, his destined right to rule all magicals. Now all he needed to do was to finish up his work on the Potters and Longbottoms…

Harry came to, for a moment. But then dozens more memories assaulted him again and he had severe difficulty keeping them apart in his mind. These were Voldemort's memories. Why on earth was he seeing into Voldemort's memories, his past, his origins… He had just come through a dementor's attack, who miraculously had not eaten his soul, but where was all this coming from…

He vomited again and made to stand. The memories were growing increasingly confused and entangled, but he could still make sense of many of them. But then a shrill cry interrupted him, and turning he could see with what vision remained Mrs. Figg advancing towards him, her movements haphazard perhaps out of fear.

"Where's your wand Harry? I tell you I'm no use against them! Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher, the next time I…"

None of this was making any sense and Harry couldn't understand any of it, still with an overwhelming deluge of memories spilling forth and passing through his mind. But vaguely he somehow knew that the danger had passed, and unwilling to expend any more energy to sort through the contradictions he gave himself up to unconsciousness again…

.

And dreamt some more of a boy named Tom Riddle, the brilliant student that he became, his rise to power among pureblood circles, his extraordinary magic, the people he betrayed, the heroes and fools he destroyed…

And then as he came to, he could faintly hear Mrs. Figg shouting frantically, "the dementors must have addled his mind!"

His mind clearer now, and feeling a lot more enlightened, he ignored his batty old neighbour who had been trying to wake him and gestured for her to calm down. Spotting his holly wand intact from the corner of his blurred vision, he picked it up and pocketed it which elicited another shrill cry from Mrs. Figg who was clearly in a mad state of panic.

"Don't put it down boy! I tell you, I'm no use…"

Dudley Dursley was dead. Harry stood over his cousin feeling uncharacteristically nothing. His skin was a deathly pallor, those wide eyes unseeing, lips parted with a gaping hole for a mouth. He closed his eyelids and felt for a pulse, it was still beating. He was breathing faintly. But he was no longer alive.

He turned back to Mrs. Figg who was gesturing pointedly in the direction where they both lived. "We need to get indoors immediately!" Harry nodded still feeling light-headed, and he only had to consider for a moment. He flicked his wand without even needing the incantation and then immediately slung Dudley over his back, weighing less than an empty sack. Performing magic for some reason, had never felt easier. If only he had been able to find his wand against the dementors, all this would have been avoided.

But despite all that had happened, he could somehow only feel a twinge of sympathy for his cousin. While he couldn't name more than a handful of people who deserved the Dementor's kiss, Voldemort judging from all that he had seen deserved it; Dudley had definitely been an insufferable brute for most of his life, not only to him but he was a tormentor to many others.

Surprisingly he could now see more clearly into his own past. He felt a sense that many things which mattered greatly to him from before no longer did, while other things appeared far more pressing. In spite of himself, he felt a vindictive flare of pleasure at the thought that he certainly could no longer stay with the Dursleys after all that had transpired.


	2. Chapter 2

The array of street lamps that criss-crossed Magnolia Crescent were well-lit again as Harry and Mrs. Figg walked carefully to the end alleyway where Wisteria Walk began. It was as if the dementors had never been here at all. Harry was struggling; despite carrying him weightless, Dudley's blow had left a massive bruise on the side of his face. But a light breeze proved refreshing and a relief, especially on such a warm, summer evening.

Mrs. Figg fumbled at her dress collar trying to shake off both heat and nervousness. Harry was walking half-blinded, his shattered spectacles barely hanging on to the side of his face, not looking at anything, head bowed. He was trying to remember all that he had just seen, and how all those memories fitted together. At last, Mrs. Figg chose to break their mutual awkward silence.

"About the boy, your cousin Dudley. We'll need to find a magical healing practitioner as soon as possible to reverse what those horrible things did to him."

Harry grunted, not really wanting to break her delusion. "I take it you're not aware of what a dementor is or what it does?"

She looked puzzled. "No, I've never heard of… What is a dementor?"

"They suck souls out of human beings and consume it," Harry replied in a flat tone. "Dudley's gone. His soul was taken."

Her hand flew to her mouth in horrified shock as she ran over to the side to look at Dudley hung limply over his shoulder. Harry heard her breath catch as she trembled, "It can't be… Dumbledore must know something. Surely he could think of a way…"

"No," Harry said somewhat heavily. "Dumbledore, Professor Dumbledore told me that souls once destroyed, are irreversibly gone."

"But what will I tell the Dursleys," Mrs. Figg let out a piercing, hysterical wail and wiped at her eyes, "How could I possibly tell them what happened to their son?"

"You're definitely coming with me when I get back to Privet Drive," Harry said firmly. "Or else the Dursleys would probably literally kill me. I take it from those comments you made about being useless, that you're a squib? You'll have to explain everything to them, your connections with the magical world…"

"I moved into this neighbourhood soon after you were adopted by the Dursleys," Mrs. Figg quickly explained to regain her composure, "because Dumbledore asked me to and I owed him a favour. I was to look over you as you grew up…"

Harry snorted derisively. "A bit negligent then, weren't you?"

"Well there were clear limits of how much I could do," Mrs. Figg said defensively, "you had to stay with the Dursleys for your own protection and so long as they weren't treating you too badly, I had nothing of substance to report to Dumbledore. I mean I knew you were never happy in your childhood Harry, and I'm deeply sorry for that. But I wasn't sure whether my interference would make things better or worse… Dumbledore made clear that our hands were tied in the matter…"

"I guess I'll be having a word with him as soon as I possibly can," he said nonchalantly. "The Dursleys will definitely kick me out of their home after this. After they try and take my head off my shoulders of course…"

Mrs. Figg suddenly came to a halt. And turned to look at him again, confusion written all over her brow. "But then how did you survive the attack? I mean, not Voldemort, but the dementors. If they consume souls, why didn't they take your soul as well?"

.

It had to be linked. Harry somehow intuitively just knew. The reason why he had survived the dementor attack was linked to why he had survived as a baby against Voldemort. He was sure of it, even if he couldn't understand how or why. According to Voldemort there had been some sort of prophecy made which was why he (and Neville) were targeted. So did he as Voldemort feared, possess some special powers that would have allowed him to survive? And what was this connection that he had with Voldemort that allowed him access to so many of his memories? Was it the result of the prophecy, or perhaps their fateful encounter when he was an infant? But why did it only trigger now, after a dementor attack that nearly consumed his soul, and not when Voldemort first regained his full strength?

Harry was beginning to feel extremely dizzy again and since they were within sight of Four Privet Drive he dropped those thoughts for later. He needed a clear mind before his probable, last encounter with the Dursleys. He also needed Hermione to help him think through this and all that he had learnt.

And he needed to tell Dumbledore a lot of information that he (or Voldemort) probably thought that he didn't know. But he wouldn't tell him everything; despite all the greatness that Harry had seen in him through Voldemort's perspective, he could still tell that Dumbledore was a flawed man with questionable judgement on many issues, whose mistakes and oversight had cost the Order greatly.

As they approached the lawn of Privet Drive, now shrouded in almost complete darkness apart from the pinpricks of light coming from the kitchen and sitting room reflected through the porch windows, he felt Mrs. Figg begin to tremble again and whisper hoarsely to herself. Since the Dursleys knew Mrs. Figg and were on relatively good terms with her, Harry intended to let her explain the situation as she saw it and they wouldn't, couldn't exactly say she was lying; not when she was in such an emotional state…

But since when did he have such deliberately, manipulative thoughts?

Of course they could always later accuse him of bewitching her, but since she was an outsider, it meant they couldn't exactly vent at him as Vernon otherwise would dearly enjoy. Which meant he wouldn't need to call upon magic to defend himself and add further complications to his use of magic to retrieve the corpse of Dudley Dursley. Harry nodded to himself reassuringly as he knocked, cancelled the charm, and immediately dropped Dudley with a thud onto the porch.

There was a mad rush from the inside and as expected Aunt Petunia had beat his uncle to the door and swiftly opened it. Catching sight of the odd trio, her beady eyes first took in Harry with disapproval looking away in a momentary second swivelling to Mrs. Figg where her eyes widened with surprise, and finally her gaze fell to the floor and her eyes bulged in shock and her face lost all colour as she collapsed onto the floor

"VERNON, VERNON!" she screamed and Harry resisted the temptation to cover his ears.

Uncle Vernon came waddling in from the kitchen looking evidently very annoyed at the late hour and as he approached and spotted his son on the floor he froze to the spot. Harry had never seen Uncle Vernon look so powerless and uncertain as to what to do. The moment quickly passed however, what with Aunt Petunia still weeping from the floor not even wanting to touch her dead son, shock gave way to anger fairly quickly.

"WHAT'S THIS? WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?" Completely ignoring Mrs. FIgg who was shaking with trepidation at all the grief, he marched straight to Harry who was doing his best to look contrite but not intimidated.

"BOY! EXPLAIN YOURSELF! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?" Vernon gesticulated with his arms wildly and quickly reached over knocking Harry out of his way as he shook Dudley wildly as if trying to wake him. Realizing his futile efforts, he returned his attention to him, his spittle flying and hitting everything within reach…

"He's not…"

"Ask her," Harry said calmly, "she saw everything that happened. I was knocked out."

"It wasn't Harry's fault," Mrs. Figg sniffed. "I was walking home to Wisteria Walk when I suddenly felt the air become very cold, on such a warm summer's night… so I went to investigate. And I saw two hooded figures hovering over two boys, Dudley and Harry. Both were unconscious."

"But what did they do to him?" Vernon pointed to his son whose mouth was wide and gaping, his face perfectly sculpted in a mask of fear.

"They were dementors." Harry said heavily. "They consume the souls of human beings, Dudley's soul was taken."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's heads turned so quickly that Vernon winced as he craned his neck. Petunia let out a gasp and another soft cry, as tears began streaming down her face uncontrollably and she put her arms around her son and started rocking him gently all the while sobbing.

"THEN WHY WASN'T HE AFFECTED?" Vernon almost shouted pointing in Harry's direction. "WHY IS HIS SOUL STILL INTACT?"

"No idea," Harry said honestly, "I mean seriously, not a clue. I was unconscious for a long time…"

"You're lying," Uncle Vernon raised a shaking finger at Harry, "You killed Dudley, didn't you? YOU KILLED MY SON!"

"No Mr. Dursley, I saw Harry was unconscious and…"

But Uncle Vernon was done with being polite, even to a neighbour. "OUT," he gestured to Mrs. Figg, "GET OUT IF YOU'RE IN WITH THE WHOLE LOT OF THEM!" As Mrs. Figg scampered to the door to flee, Uncle Vernon took a nearby vase and hurled it at Harry who sidestepped the debris with the unerring reflexes of a trained seeker.

"YOU AND YOUR ABNORMALITIES CAUSED MY SON'S DEATH! I'LL HAVE YOU ALL DEAD FOR THIS! YOU AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID!" Uncle Vernon reached over and grabbed at Harry's collar but a sudden spike of energy caught him off guard, and the next second his fingers had grown several blisters and when he still refused to let go, with a bang he was sent flying, crashing into the wall.

Vernon pulled himself painfully off the floor, dusting himself and examining the damage, the wallpaper had peeled off and the wall was perhaps a little dented. He walked with a slight limp and a grimace as he advanced menacingly towards Harry, his ruddy face puffed up, and he was breathing in and out heavily. He continued to rage at the top of his voice.

"EVER SINCE WE TOOK YOU IN, YOU'VE BEEN NOTHING BUT A SHADOW ON ALL OUR LIVES, THE LIVES OF MY FAMILY. MARGE WAS ALWAYS RIGHT, WE SHOULD NEVER HAVE DARKENED OUR DOORSTEP WITH THE LIKES OF YOUR LOT!"

And it went on and on, as Harry waited patiently standing his ground while his Uncle worked out his anger, spraying him with spittle. Petunia, he noticed had fainted next to Dudley both from grief and emotional exhaustion. The next second however, he could see the silhouette of an owl in the night, illuminated by the house lights, hooting as it flew. It swooped right in through the open window and Uncle Vernon let out a howl as the great dirty bird proceeded to make two rounds over their heads, before dropping a letter.

Uncle Vernon had snatched it, Harry let him read what was undoubtedly a letter from the ministry. He looked at it disbelievingly before blurting out, "IT SAYS SOME KIND OF FEATHER LIGHT CHARM WAS USED…"

"You have to believe me then," Harry said in what was the most earnest tone he could muster, "the ministry tracks spells performed by underaged wizards. I only used the feather light charm to transport… Dudley back…"

His uncle was still pacing up and down like a madman, fuming all the while, stopping only to catch breath. He clearly still couldn't believe the turn of events and was hoping for a miracle, even a magical one that would bring back Dudley. Harry had never seen his Uncle in such a despairing mood, or look so very desperate. He was on the verge of an emotional breakdown, that would probably lead to unbelievable anger since Harry still did not believe his Uncle was capable of showing any outward grief.

"YOUR LOT DID THIS TO HIM, SO THEY ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYTHING! THEY HAD BETTER PUT DUDLEY RIGHT OR I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE THAT EVERY FREAK IN EXISTENCE PAYS HORRIBLY, I WILL MAKE SURE YOUR "WORLD" IS DESTROYED FOR GOOD…"

"Even magic can't bring back the dead, or bring back a soul that's been destroyed," Harry told him quietly but evenly. "There are rules and laws, even with magic…"

"YOU'RE LYING! YOU KNOW HOW TO REVERSE THIS, YOU JUST WANT TO HURT DUDLEY," Vernon screamed, pointing a big, ugly, accusatory finger right up to Harry's spectacles, his threatening hands inches away from Harry's throat.

"The worst part is," Harry said losing his temper slightly, "that I could have protected Dudley from the dementors, but he thought that I was the one using magic to attack him. So he knocked me out with his fist. I suggest you don't make the same mistake."

That was probably in retrospect the wrong thing to say in such a circumstance. Uncle Vernon roared with pent-up fury and swung his fists to strike at him but Harry dodged the blow with even more ease than usual. Either his Uncle was much older (and fatter) than he remembered, or his composure was somehow miraculously strengthened from absorbing many of Voldemort's memories.

Deep down, Harry knew he still feared Vernon a little bit, due to his having grown up in the Dursley household, constantly verbally bullied and tormented by the man. But any fright he might have had, was much weaker than usual, and he did not even feel angry in response. He only pitied the Dursleys.

"I still feel I have to apologize, even though its clearly not my fault that any of this happened," Harry emphasized. "I don't know why the dementors were sent or who sent them. I don't think its the evil freak who's after me, since he wants to kill me personally, not have my soul sucked out before he can have the pleasure."

While Vernon had been barely restraining himself in anger, his uncle was now staring at him blankly with one eye, the other having been blackened by his fall. He was wearing the kind of dumbfounded expression that Harry never could have imagined from him.

"But still, I guess if I wasn't here, none of this would have happened," Harry said candidly. "I mean, if we weren't related, obviously you wouldn't have needed to take me in to obtain protection from the evil freaks. Therefore, even though none of this is my fault, I apologize."

"Get out."

Harry went, and quickly retrieved every last thing he owned. It took barely ten minutes, while Vernon sat down on the floor, looking utterly broken. He didn't say another word. But Harry turned to address his uncle for the last time.

"Before I depart and never call this place home again, I want to offer you some last advice. It's quite certain that once the protections fall, the evil freak who is after me will send his servants to kidnap, torture, and kill you in an attempt to get to me. Therefore, you have to leave Privet Drive as soon as possible. I'll try and contact some of my people immediately, who can provide you with some protection, but ultimately they won't be a match for the evil freak in question." A second owl flew in from the night, and Harry caught the letter that was dropped. It was addressed to Aunt Petunia from Professor Dumbledore, but Harry decided to read it anyways.

Apparently, it was Aunt Petunia who had been contacted by Dumbledore after his parent's death, and she had agreed to look after him, on the understanding that her family would be protected. Well, it was too late for that now. Harry left the letter on the floor next to his unconscious aunt and unresponsive uncle, picked up his packed trunk and Hedwig's empty cage and walked out.

He knew it was probably more responsible to stay, but he couldn't stand the guilt of seeing the Dursleys mourn, knowing that he really cared very little for them. The emotional turmoil that all this had wrought was making him impulsive and impatient, he had too many unanswered questions, and so he had a longing to leave it all behind.


	3. Chapter 3

At a desolate turn of the road, Harry stuck out his wand to hail the Knight Bus and waited for a minute or so before it arrived with a customary bang. Unlike the previous time, he hardly even jumped, Voldemort had ridden it dozens of times in his youth to escape from the orphanage after stealing money from the matron. This was before he learned illegally to apparate at age fifteen of course.

Stan Shunpike stepped off in his usual conductor's outfit and started to give the obligatory speech, before breaking off when he saw who it was and waved him onboard, helping to carry Harry's trunk.

"We're delighted to have you aboard again, Mr. Potter," Stan said cheerfully as always, "Diagon Alley? Blimey what happened to your glasses?"

"Leaky Cauldron, and could I get a private bed this time Stan?" Harry let Stan magically repair his glasses for him before clambering on board.

Needless to say Harry was slightly taken aback, not because it was any different from how Stan behaved last time, but it was certainly not the treatment that Tom Riddle had experienced. He paid the extra gold for the private bed; he was definitely going to need it. His head was wracked full of memories that were not his own, clearly. It was like he was in somebody else's head constantly and it was exhausting beyond belief. Memories would jump to the surface at the merest unexpected, association with anything that apparently Voldemort was familiar with.

The bus took off with a bang again, and Harry didn't even need to flinch as he perfectly fastened the corners of his bed to the hanging curtains and much enjoyed the rocking sensation that was helping him doze off next to the other bed occupants who were yawning similarly. Stan went around handing hot chocolate to paying customers.

As he rounded Harry's bed, Harry told him to leave him for last as he was in no particular hurry.

The nature of the memories was also intriguing, he had far more memories of Voldemort in his fifties and forties, considerably fewer from his twenties and thirties, and very few from his Hogwarts years. And only several important ones from his bleak childhood. But it was enough for Harry to easily glean that he and Voldemort had had similar, tough childhoods.

Most of the memories he was experiencing were as expected, important to Voldemort, with the exception of a few trivial ones. From what he could glean Voldemort was definitely a psychopath with few interests other than the pursuit of magical might and proficiency as well as thinking up schemes to hurt, intimidate, and achieve dominance over others, to his own delight and pleasure.

Because magical proficiency and strength was of utmost importance to Voldemort, Harry was experiencing many of the memories of how Voldemort learned to perfect his magic and craft, his acquisition of magical knowledge, as well as the various ways in which he pushed the boundaries of magic through twisted experiments. All these were apparently considered the highlights of his life.

He also focused on the memories that concerned the decision to go after his parents, and he found the motivations to be disturbingly simple as well as somewhat paranoid. Unfortunately, hurting, torturing, and killing people were also highlights of Voldemort's very sick life and Harry was remembering enough cases to make him feel very nauseous. Unlike memories that he deliberately focused and dwelled on, he tried to skim over them and forget these as quickly as possible, with limited success.

For the next couple of hours, Harry drifted between a half-sleeping and a state of abrupt wakefulness as he relived even more memories, ones that caused him to go numb for shock, many that gave him nightmares, some that most disturbingly gave him secret pleasure. Voldemort's memories intermingled with his own, as Harry fought to give himself as many breaks as possible to remember his own life (even though most of that was pretty bleak as well). As memories continued to flow, it was all becoming frighteningly natural, and Harry was seriously concerned that he would lose himself or lose his mind to Voldemort, or at least the persona that he could make sense of from the memories. Already he could feel (or rememberer at least) that a part of himself had been lost. And if this continued unabated…

He need to get a letter to Dumbledore and Hermione as quickly as possible. As Stan swung by, whistling a merry tune, he asked him where they were. Stan saluted him from the other side of the bus to convey that he understood, and with the next bang they were in London.

Harry hadn't been paying attention, but the bus was nearly empty as most of the passengers had already left. Harry got off thanking Stan and Ernie again, crossed Charring Cross Road amid heavy traffic as it was a weekend and made for the extremely familiar, shady-looking pub that would have seemed even more obscure than usual in the dark, if Harry had not seen it (or thought he had seen it) thousands of times before, in another life or another world.

It was all extremely disorientating and unnerving but at the same time there were many things that he was just dying to do, and unfortunately more than a few of them were directly or indirectly inspired by Voldemort's memories. The jarring resemblance that a few of Voldemort's memories had with his own, in a way that made them somehow difficult to tell apart from the other, was also driving him totally insane, that not all of Voldemort's memories felt exactly alien to him.

The eerie way that Harry remembered Tom, the barman almost made him turn back out into the street. He really wanted to exit, because Voldemort had killed and tortured Tom's brother and he had just remembered the rather gory details that made him noticeably cringe.

Tom regarded him curiously as he inquired for a room, the Leaky Cauldron had plenty spare due to extensive application of the undetectable extension charm. Tom gave him the same toothless grin that he remembered too often as he bowed and led the way up the stairs.

Once he was all alone in his room, Harry threw down his trunk and cage and pulled out his wand. Consciously he tried to recall the memory and once he had reviewed it several times, he set about removing the tracking charm from his wand, using an ingenious spell that Riddle had learnt from pureblood circles in his second year. It was somewhat more difficult, as Harry had no spare wand to use, and so he had to perform the spell wandlessly. After a few tries, he finally got it right.

It might have been a shock to Harry to learn that purebloods were indeed flouting all Ministry rules and regulations using special insider tricks, but it certainly did not surprise the young Tom Riddle. It only increased his desire to be accepted by his fellow purebloods in Slytherin House, and the certainty (with mounting evidence) in which he believed in pureblood superiority.

He then performed wandlessly a few more diagnostic spells that confirmed that the tracking spell was indeed removed. Picking up his wand, he reviewed some memories and began a complex series of conjurations and transfigurations. It was easy, effortless, and Harry knew, far beyond what he could otherwise achieve using his own knowledge or abilities. He was able to better appreciate just what a brilliant practitioner of magic that Voldemort was, and how much care, attention, he had lavished onto improving his abilities over the years. This was in addition to Voldemort's natural talent and genius of course.

For the next hour, Harry performed hundreds of spells that could be performed safely within the confines of a relatively small and dark room. Insights into practical magic came easily to him now, and he knew reflexively all the shortcuts that Hogwarts textbooks never mentioned, that Voldemort had discovered for himself during his student years. In addition, he found non-verbal spells to be actually easier than speaking an incantation aloud, which said much about Voldemort's advanced abilities.

Of course, most of Voldemort's memories about magic concerned the darker arts, but Harry pushed those to the back of his mind for now. He could deal with them at a later time, possibly after he showed them to someone like Professor Dumbledore. At a sudden prompt, Harry found himself casting several advanced wards for protection, before going to bed.

.

The next morning, he awoke to find Hedwig at the foot of his bed, hooting. He reached out, petting her as she ruffled her feathers, still trying to shake off his latest dreams, which were confused and involved more of Voldemort's memories (as well as his own) that he could not quite place.

Grabbing his quill he penned several quick letters addressed to Dumbledore, Sirius, Ron, and Hermione respectively. He found that after absorbing Voldemort's memories, he was much inclined to go to Dumbledore for advice than before. Even though he now knew that Dumbledore had made many mistakes (deceived by Voldemort), it wasn't for nothing that Voldemort regarded Dumbledore as the most powerful and intelligent wizard alive. Just as Voldemort had feared Dumbledore's magic and would never seek out a straight duel with him, Harry was now doubly awed by the Headmaster once he better realized how powerful he was.

.

Dear Professor

As I'm sure you're aware by now, on the 2nd of August, two dementors attacked Little Whinging. My cousin's soul was taken, but for some reason that still eludes me, they did not take my soul. Something else unexpected happened however, and it is of utmost importance that we talk about it as soon as possible. If you want to find me, I am currently staying at the Leaky Cauldron. The Dursleys understandably no longer will not have me stay after what befell their son, it would be fruitless to try and change their minds after Petunia's end of the bargain was not upheld. The Ministry has decided to press charges over a feather light charm I used to transport Dudley back to his parents, but it shouldn't be a concern as I have a witness to my use of magic. Also, the Dursleys will require immediate protection after all this.

Sincerely, Harry Potter.

.

Dear Padfoot

Two dementors attacked Little Whinging on the 2nd of August and my cousin was killed but I somehow survived. I have something really important to tell you, but it will have to wait until we meet. Can't say any more now. Also apparently someone who was on duty left their post. The attack was witnessed by Mrs. Figg. The Dursleys understandably will no longer let me stay with them, so I can't wait to come and stay at your place.

Hope you're having a good summer,  
Harry.

.

Dear Hermione

Hope you've had a good summer. Mine has been terrible as I'm sure you know, no information whatsoever from anyone. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron right now after a dementor attack that killed my cousin and the Dursleys have understandably kicked me out. Don't worry, somehow I managed to survive the attack, even though I have no idea how my soul remained intact. Hope to hear from you soon, I have a lot to tell you about the attack and the aftermath that I can't put in this letter.

Yours truly,  
Harry.

.

Dear Ron

I'm currently staying at the Leaky Cauldron after a dementor attack that happened a couple of days ago. My cousin was killed, the Dursleys kicked me out, and the fallout is going to be crazy. The Ministry is pressing charges over underaged magic use, after I used a feather light charm to transport my cousin's body back. I have a lot to tell you that I can't put in this letter however, so if you or someone in the family could stop by or maybe I could drop by the Burrow as soon as possible.

Harry.

.

During a quick breakfast at the pub downstairs, Harry was puzzled by the usual stares which seemed colder and much more uncertain than usual. He made his way through the teeming crowds of Diagon Alley already crammed full of shoppers, even though the day was just beginning and half the stores were not fully open.

Gringotts loomed in the distance, it's white marble posts reflecting off the cheerful, early morning sunshine. He first withdrew a hefty amount gold and converted some into muggle currency. Handling the transactions, the goblin at the desk gave him additional respect after he performed the ritual of manners that he remembered from a memory of Voldemort's. After an inquiry, Harry learned that the Potter Vault contained over half a million galleons.

After that, Harry went to buy a magical trunk, similar to the one used by the fake Moody to imprison the real one. Next he bought a stone basin which he placed in his trunk, as he intended to make his own pensieve from Voldemort's knowledge. He would need it, if yesterday's memories were anything to go by.

After lunch, he spent the rest of the day in his room, in his trunk, making a start at the Ancient Runes that were needed to be carved on the inside and outside of the basin, while waiting for Hedwig to return, perhaps with a response from anyone that he had owled. At dinnertime, he went downstairs and ate a hearty meal. It was then he realized that Voldemort's memories were even altering his taste buds; things he found good now just seemed trivial, while he relished some things that he had been indifferent towards.

Radishes, for instance. A multitude of memories suddenly came to the surface, he had memories of food and eating that he was quite sure, were not his own. Not that Voldemort cared a great deal about what he ate, but he also now found treacle tart to be relatively dull.

As he ate, Harry tried striking up a conversation with his neighbouring wizards and witches. But they were all giving him cold and standoffish looks like at breakfast, and even at the shops in Diagon Alley the storekeepers did not seem particularly pleased to have a paying customer. One middle-aged witch dressed in handsome dress robes was shooting him particularly nasty looks, another aged, bespectacled wizard was eying him warily. They were all suspicious of him, and Harry was already turning over theories as to why.

The most likeliest explanation was simply that the ministry has blackened his name, it was impossible otherwise for his reputation to suffer in the space of a summer. But why had the Ministry turned against him all of a sudden?

Before he could get any further in his thoughts, the door to the pub opened, and Remus Lupin walked in from the driving rain outside.


	4. Chapter 4

Remus looked much the worse compared to the last time Harry had seen him, which was over a year ago. His appearance was all the more dishevelled, and he looked like he had aged at least five years; his clothes were all the more ragged, and Harry felt more sorry for him than ever. From Voldemort's memories, he knew how much the dark lord relished the anti-werewolf legislation that would have prevented Remus from holding any kind of employment. He had a deeper understanding of how Remus lived, based on (with a sudden jolt) Voldemort's interactions with Greyback and his wolfpack.

Lupin cast a furtive series of glances in all directions before approaching Harry's table. Harry was able to respond and react professionally on a knack suddenly acquired from the memories of his nemesis, avoiding eye contact until Lupin was fully seated. Lupin leaned over surreptitiously.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded and lowered his voice amid the raucous atmosphere of the pub. "Why don't you join me for supper while we discuss what Professor Dumbledore wants next?" Harry guessed that he had sent Lupin here.

"Harry, when you visited my office at the end of your third year, what magical creature did you see in one of the tanks I used to keep in my office?"

Lupin watched, slightly unnerved as Harry struggled to remember. The hand that gripped the wand in his pocket tightened. Harry had to think for over a minute, his brows deeply furrowed, his head in his hands before he looked up. Lupin could see from his eyes that he was faraway.

"A grindylow," Harry replied without any emotion. But it was still suspicious, Lupin knew. Harry had taken too long, and the way he remembered resembled somebody who had stolen another person's memory. But then again, it had been a rather obscure question, Lupin admitted.

"Another question just to check." He winced slightly. "What is my boggart, Harry?"

"We thought you were afraid of crystal balls at first," Harry said instantly, the corners of his mouth breaking into a familiar smile. "It's good to see you again, Professor. How are things going that I've missed out on?"

"I'm afraid the situation might be more serious than you might have thought. A few of our people are waiting outside. We're here to protect you until we reach where you'll be safe. We'll talk there."

"My stuff is still upstairs." Lupin nodded. "Do you want to-" Harry offered to get Remus something to eat as well but Lupin shook his head indicating that they had no time. Harry rose from the table and rounded the stairs to the upper level of rooms. Lupin flicked his wand in response to keep track of where Harry was located.

He shook his head, somewhat perturbed. He had been expecting Harry… to be different, but not like this. He had changed so much since the last time they met, his demeanour was a lot more serious and resembled that of an experienced adult. He had the alertness of an auror, while still being at complete ease with his surroundings; an extremely rare combination that was, and Lupin here scratched his head, normally reserved for only the most skilled of wizards like Dumbledore. And he had accepted everything, the need to move, without asking any questions. That wasn't the Harry Potter he remembered.

Harry emerged from the stairs again in record time carrying a newly bought trunk, Lupin could see. He was doing his best to ignore the frigid stares that followed him everywhere, as he attracted the eyes of many of the occupants. Lupin had a feeling from Harry's indifference that he might have guessed the reason why.

"All ready to go? Where's Hedwig's cage?"

Harry tapped the trunk and Lupin's eyebrows rose. He ushered Harry out of the pub after Harry paid and as soon as he was outside, Harry threw his trusty invisibility cloak over himself.

The way was clear. Lupin signalled and Kingsley across the street began to walk. Behind him, Lupin could see through the rain Moody trailing them. Tonks was ahead, about twenty steps, her hair was maroon this time. Lupin tapped himself on the head to cast an impervious charm to ward off the rain and did the same to an invisible Harry. They were off. Headquarters was only fifteen minutes away and he could side apparate Harry to a safe location at the first sign of trouble.

The walk was uneventful. Their entire party kept pace and Lupin could tell from his tracking charm that he had placed before that Harry was two steps to his right and following him. Walking through crowded Muggle London was always tricky from a security standpoint, even in the best circumstances. But it was also a double edged sword, any attacker would find it difficult to find them in the haystack.

Finally, as they reached a much quieter residential neighbourhood and was nearing Grimmauld Place, they all converged together. They were in a relatively empty lane, with rows of near-identical townhouses stacked one after another in geometric fashion. Harry saw Kingsley and Moody underneath his cloak break off and a second later they were gone, disapparated. The next second Lupin had grabbed his arm and Harry experience the familiar sensation of apparition.

He and Lupin were standing between Number Eleven and Number Thirteen. Judging from Voldemort's dim recollection, this was the Black ancestral home. Lupin gestured and Harry threw off his cloak. Lupin seemed to be expecting him to look sick. But he only felt mild nausea in what was actually his first ever real experience at apparition, and before Harry could take much stock of his surroundings, Lupin had thrust a thin piece of parchment towards him.

On it was written in neat, cursive script: "the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

Lupin glanced at Harry as the latter read and memorized and Lupin was alarmed as a sudden flash of realization passed through Lily's green eyes before it was quickly replaced by polite puzzlement. But how had Harry known beforehand? He thought it must have been his friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione, Ronald most likely, who had told him beforehand. Mrs. Weasley was not going to be pleased. He would need to have a quiet talk with Ronald Weasley before too long.

Harry glanced up and before his eyes the house in between appeared, shoving Number Eleven and Thirteen sideways. He already knew of the impressive magic guarding the Black ancestral home of course, from Voldemort's memories. He had visited once with Regulus to request the use of Kreacher, the Black house elf. So apparently this was now headquarters for the renewed Order of the Phoenix. It was poetic justice in a way.

Out of the shadows, Kingsley and Moody both stepped forward to enter the house. A second later, there was a crack as Tonks arrived. "Coast is clear, we weren't followed," she said breathlessly. Moody grunted and Kingsley gave a nod. Harry exchanged penetrating looks with them, making sure that it was too quick for legilimency. Voldemort knew them all apparently, but only by reputation. Moody, he of course knew the most about as he was considered a great and formidable foe.

"Potter, I never got around to thanking you for what you did a couple of months ago" Moody said gruffly shaking his hand. "I owe you one, if there's anything I could do for you personally, just ask."

"I'm Nymphadora Tonks," the now blue-haired woman said puffing out her chest, "I'm an auror, the youngest in the force and the most recently qualified.

"And this is Kingsley," said Lupin gesturing to him. Kingsley draped in a grey cloak smiled and nodded. "I've heard a lot of good things about you Mr. Potter, but you'll find the Ministry is not so obliging these days," Kingsley said in the deep and calm voice of his.

"I could've figured," Harry replied with a grimace. "And I suppose they've taken to smearing me with that rag of theirs, the Daily Prophet?" When Kingsley nodded, he snorted. "Oldest trick in the book."

They filed in one after another and Harry was smirking all the while, thinking up all the various ways that he could use his name and Boy Who Lived mantra to make the Ministry's attempt backfire spectacularly. Oh the possibilities and stratagems were endless, this was something that Voldemort relished. Beside him Lupin rang the doorbell, Harry spotted the knocker that was shaped as a serpent, and within him, he could feel Voldemort's approval like the first time he had seen it.

The front door opened and it was Mrs. Weasley to Harry's surprise, and her excited shouts drowned out his thoughts as she threw her arms around him.

"Oh Harry, we were so worried, when we heard… Thank goodness you're safe. Albus said…Well come in! Come in all! Sirius is here and Ron and Hermione too, you know…"

Harry let himself be ushered in as he entered into the long dark hallway of Number Twelve, the kitchen was in the basement, he remembered. The dining room was on the ground floor, and Harry could see the various (covered in cobwebs) portraits showcasing the ancestors of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black; most of them were fast asleep.

Tonks then knocked down the umbrella stand on her way in. A curtain was drawn fast and all heard screaming. "MUDBLOODS AND TRAITORS HOW DARE YOU DEFILE THE HOUSE OF MY FATHER" The next second, a shaggy-haired man had descended the stairs at top speed and was shouting roughly in return, "Shut up you old hag! Shut up!" He and Lupin forced the curtain over the portrait again slamming it closed with a bang!

It was Sirius. Harry made to approach him with a little trepidation; they had never really spoken face to face apart from their conversations by the fire at Gryffindor Tower, and they only met briefly after he had helped him escape.

Unlike Lupin, he was looking a lot better than when he had just emerged from his stint in Azkaban. His hair was less thin, he had filled out, and colour had returned to him. He and Harry managed to exchange meaningful glances before Mrs. Weasley stepped between them apologizing profusely as she implored Harry to wait upstairs as the Order was about to hold a meeting, so he went to find Ron and Hermione on the second floor.

A tap from his wand and he heard their quiet voices conversing in the next room. Harry could feel his heart swelling with gladness just from hearing them, that he momentarily forgot his frustration; that they had resisted telling him anything about the Order for the entire summer. All of that seemed so distant and unimportant now (especially since he now knew more than the both of them) so he resolved to just forget his previous anger. He also resisted the temptation to eavesdrop first.

He knocked. Instantly, their talk ceased and the door was flung open and the next second Hermione had hugged him with all her strength. He shrank slightly at her touch before allowing himself to relax. Neither he nor Lord Voldemort were accustomed to physical gestures of affection.

"Blimey, let him breathe Hermione," came Ron's voice from behind, but he too was grinning. Harry saw Ron had grown noticeably in the weeks since they last met; he was still a few inches taller than Harry as from before. Harry steeled himself and suppressed a sudden flare of anger as he faced them, feeling uncertain himself as to how to react. After all, none of the new memories which had surfaced so far, concerned friendship. And some of his old memories with them felt rather distant, after the recent deluge of things remembered. It felt like years since he had last seen them rather than weeks.

She released him finally and Harry also suppressed a sigh of relief, but neither of them could be deterred from their questions, which he found to be highly ironic given how desperate he had been for any scrap of information all summer. Half of him wanted to tell them what it felt like to fish for newspapers from waste bins, but that part was no longer all that he was either.

"I… where to begin," he mused.

"How did you escape the dementors," Ron asked breathlessly. "They wouldn't tell us anything, and the Ministry has been trying to hush it up. How did you manage to survive?" Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs and he winced.

"We couldn't believe something had happened during the summer right after Voldemort had returned, when we heard… Dumbledore is furious with Mundungus… well," she stammered looking at Harry fiercely and with the most intense expression possible. Her face was showing the most incomprehensible mixture of relief, shock, worry, and pity, Ron had all that but with awe and incredulity as well.

If Hermione was also curious as to why Harry had survived even without casting a patronus, as he himself certainly was, she did not show it outwardly. She seemed to realize how weighed down he felt though, because she bit her lip and said nothing further. Then Harry realized she was feeling slightly ashamed and guilty for withholding information.

"Well let's get this out of the way first before anything else," he said, "why did you not write back to me and tell me that you were here? I would have liked to know what the Order was up to, I could have done with some reassurances…"

"Dumbledore," Ron answered quickly, "we wanted to write to you mate, but he made us swear…"

"We're really sorry," Hermione said finally, "we're really sorry Harry, we wanted to tell you more but Dumbledore…"

"We know little enough as it is," Ron said somewhat heatedly, "we're not allowed at the Order meetings but we managed to glean a little from the new devices that Fred and George have invented." Next to him, Hermione rolled her eyes slightly.

"Well, they're bloody useful, aren't they?"

Harry was tempted to follow suit and also engage in some eye-rolling. He wasn't sure what Dumbledore had in mind in keeping him totally isolated. Sure, there was the possibility of owls being intercepted, or him being captured and tortured for information. But everyone ran the same risks, didn't they? Why had he been singled out in particular? Ron and Hermione could have devised a way to tell him information through code…

"Well I guess I forgive you," Harry said a little reluctantly, even though he probably knew way more than them now. Hermione gave a small, grateful smile, but still looked somewhat uncomfortable while Ron seemed more reassured. "I'll be adding that to the list of things I want to talk to Professor Dumbledore about."

"Now what about you," Ron asked again impatiently, "you've got to tell us about the dementors! How come they knew where to find you, the ministry is supposed to…"

"Have them under control, yeah."

"Well, it seems quite obvious the Ministry has lost control of the dementors," Hermione said ever logical, "at least since Voldemort has come back." She couldn't bring herself to consider any alternative. Had the Dementors been instructed to attack Harry by Voldemort? Surely, the Ministry couldn't have been infiltrated already?

"Either that, or I'd suspect an insider attack."

Harry and Hermione both froze. "How?" she mouthed. "Why?"

Harry decided to tell them the whole story. "So I was walking with my cousin Dudley, the next second the whole sky turns dark, all the lights are out, and the air absolutely freezes over, right? Dudley thought I was doing magic to bewitch him so he basically knocked me out. I couldn't find my wand. Next second, I had a dementor lower its hood to kiss me…"

They both had near identical expressions of shock, terror, and Hermione suddenly gripped at his arm.

"So I lose consciousness. When I come to, Dudley's gone. I'm still alive. Mrs. Figg, my neighbour, who actually is a squib and works for the Order…"

"I've meaning to say something about her," Ron suddenly interrupted, "Dad heard from his connections. The Ministry sent a team of oblivators to Privet Drive."

"WHAT?"

"That's why I think it was an insider attack. The Ministry is totally covering this up. I mean, they're pressing Harry over charges of a feather light charm, but your only witness to it Figg, I think, had her memory removed."

"But there's still the Dursleys," Hermione pointed out.

"Muggles aren't allowed to testify in wizarding courts," Ron reminded her.

"Yes they are, in life and death situations," Hermione snapped back.

"No, Ron is right," Harry said which caused both of them to turn to him in surprise. "They're allowed to testify by law in cases that concern the death of a witch or wizard, but not muggles. Not that they'd be willing after what happened to their son-"

There was a sudden CRACK and Ron and Hermione both jumped as Fred and George materialized out of thin air.

"Oi Harry," one of the twins said, bouncing forward and shaking Harry's hand, "we've been waiting for hours for you to turn up!"

"Fred bet five galleons the Ministry would have his memory wiped," George said before retracting as he saw the murderous expressions on Ron and Hermione. "Just a heheh… joke, you two."

"So what have you lot been up to this summer," Harry asked grinning slightly, "invented a few useful things that I've heard about?"

"That's exactly why we're here," Fred said eagerly and he pulled out a pair of fleshy-looking ears that he held by their string that was attached. "Extendable ears."

"Uh, how do they work exactly?"

"Well, I mean you hold one end here and then…"

"No I mean, what charms did you use," Harry asked, his mind turning over the new device. He had cast several wandless, diagnostic spells already so he knew the answer, and was impressed by their ingenuity.

"Trade secrets," both the twins said simultaneously which caused Ron to groan.

"Well, from the looks of it, it probably won't get past the imperturbable charm that your mother cast…"

"Wait, how do you know to tell the difference," Fred asked eying Harry suspiciously. He was suddenly conscious that not only did Harry Potter not know what the tell-tale signs were, he couldn't even cast one from before.

Meanwhile beside him, Hermione leaned forward, interested and slightly surprised.

Harry found himself without a good explanation as to how he knew that particular piece of magic so he changed the topic. "So I've been reading the Daily Prophet," Harry said and Hermione cringed. Well, he hadn't before assimilating Voldemort's memories. But after experiencing the hostility of the wizarding public in Diagon Alley, he had thought it sensible to do so.

"So either the Ministry insiders ordered the attack to kill me, or they just really want me expelled from Hogwarts," Harry reasoned. "I think I'll go with the latter without any further evidence. I mean, I've worked out the Ministry basically hates me now and wants to deny that Voldemort has returned. But I don't think they want me dead. If someone did order it within the Ministry, they're either imperiused or a death eater. Maybe Lucius Malfoy."

They all fell silent at that. There was a knock at the door, and Ginny Weasley walked in looking bright and radiant for a second as she beheld him.

"Hello Harry, I was wondering when you'd turn up," Ginny said casually. Although she was doing a much better job at hiding it, Harry had the perspicacious intuition that her feelings for him hadn't changed. She turned from him almost immediately to address her twin brothers and they all began bantering about the tell-tale signs of the imperturbable charm.

Turning to Ron and Hermione now, Harry spoke to them quietly so that he was fairly sure Ginny and the twins wouldn't hear easily.

"The dementor attack, for me, wasn't just an attack. Something else happened. Something else that changed me," he said in a low and faint tone, with just enough sound to be overheard. "I've changed." As Hermione looked at him questioningly and with skepticism, he continued. "I'll tell you everything after dinner, when I can get Sirius up here as well. I'll just tell you one thing now though. All summer, my scar was aching terribly. I think, it's been a lot worse since Voldemort's been back. After the dementor attack though, my scar has hardly even twinged with discomfort."

There was another knock, and it was Mrs. Weasley arriving to announce the end of the meeting and to invite them downstairs for dinner. Ron and Hermione both looked at each other, stunned and speechless. The twins raced to the door but Ginny turned back to ask him sympathetically about the date of his hearing.

"It's on the twelfth of August," Harry replied to her, "if I can remember correctly from the letter. But I'll be honest, I don't think a hearing will be necessary. The Ministry will drop charges long before then, I'm quite confident."

Ginny's eyes bulged, and she was looking at him oddly, as if not recognizing him for the first time. Harry attempted to smile back and she blushed ever so slightly before heading for the door also.

"Umm.. Harry," Hermione said tentatively nudging him. "I'm wondering, why you didn't ask us again what we knew about the Order and such? Aren't you curious about it, now?"

Harry gave her a knowing look, that seemed to say all will be explained in time. Ron raised an eyebrow, then headed for dinner also. Hermione and Harry descended the stairwell together after him. At a turn of the landing, Harry caught sight of the slightly odd form of an old house elf…

Instantly, the new stimuli yielded new memories and he gripped the rails, to steady himself. The expression must have shown, because Hermione turned to him in concern. She must have thought it was his scar hurting unexpectedly again. But the shadow was Kreacher, he was the Black's elf. Immediately he felt extremely sorry for Kreacher, as he knew the potion had clearly addled his wits. Kreacher stumbled past them, muttering to himself indistinctly, ignoring them both for the moment, although his suspicious eye did turn for a moment to regard Harry curiously.

Hermione waited patiently, not knowing how to respond. For a second, it seemed Harry was lost in space as he stared around wildly; his look was far away. Then in the next second he had recovered himself, and his bearings. He gave her a confident smile of reassurance that lifted the pit of worry in her stomach she had held all through their meeting, and they went down together.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner was a tense affair as always, and since she and her family had moved to make this house their home, partly for its protection, partly because they wanted to do everything they could to support Dumbledore, and her mother thought that keeping the house and restoring headquarters was a "basic, but essential task", the house still felt drab and unwelcome and she wanted to go home.

She stole another look at him again. He was laughing politely to Fred and George's jokes, but he appeared so constrained, every action he seemed to carefully weigh and consider, as if he was simultaneously quite unsure of himself but also confident enough for restraint. He had changed, he was different. Colder, more intelligent, not as much zest and enthusiasm as she remembered. She didn't know, a different kind of hero perhaps?

And Hermione had noticed it too, she was fairly certain. The way she looked at him with new uncertainty, like never before. Hermione had been whispering to Ron all through the meal, and Ron was trying to reassure her. They were getting closer by the day, the two of them, even though they still quarrelled. Hermione since coming to live with them a couple of weeks ago, had been unfailingly polite since she was a guest. Then Ginny had a thought that she and her family had essentially taken over the house even though it was meant for headquarters, especially since Sirius spent most of his time shut up in his old room with Buckbeak…

But Hermione still seemed unnerved and she was eating faster than usual, nearly as quick as Ron whom she often chided when Mrs. Weasley was not on hand to do so. Her eyes darted around the table and she wasn't saying much, and only occasionally she would look at Harry again meaningfully as if trying to gauge him, like he was a puzzle to be solved. Her mind was churning away furiously, if her eyes gave any indication, she was unsettled even as Ron was whispering next to her, "Knock it off 'mione, the bloke's changed from last year, well what do you expect? He saw You-Know-Who come back, he saw him murder. Plus you know, even I've changed, cause you know, people grow up…" He had heard her conversing with Lupin earlier, when Harry was out of earshot, asking him whether he had properly vetted him…

Dinner was a pleasant affair as far as Ron was concerned since his mother was by far the best cook in the whole, wide world. The twins were at it again with their jokes and he was sometimes tempted to throw a knife at them knowing they could use magic, just to get the satisfaction of provoking a reaction from them for once. Meanwhile, Hermione was being quite paranoid again, neurotic even, and he knew she was probably irked by him, the way she was sitting, forehead in hand, her brows knitted together in concentration. She had been observing him all dinner and evidently not liking what she had seen, well her badgering was to be expected…

But not the way she was fidgeting now, as if itching to use magic, she hadn't exchanged a word with Harry since the first ten minutes of dinner. Partly embarrassed, partly curious, partly afraid… She didn't know what to think of him, for the first time she felt like she didn't know him very well at all, which was disturbing. From her estimation, no one changed so abruptly in the space of weeks, not even after trauma, and she had seen how he was after Cedric's death last year. This wasn't normal at all, and she knew an explanation had to be forthcoming; no he wasn't an impersonation because an impersonator would clearly do a better job than he was. So then what had happened to him after the dementor attack that he had been hinting at?

When he learned that his uncle and aunt were dead, his eyes became cold and he seemed faraway, he kept doing that every once in a while, breaking off conversation and completely unable to continue, he would draw in a quick breath as if he was reliving a memory, and it would take a few seconds for full recovery. This wasn't normal behaviour either, in her understanding only amnesiacs who were remembering their lost memories ever acted in such a way… And what had he meant by saying that he had changed? The attack had changed him… it had to be connected somehow to the oddities that she now saw in him…

From Lupin he had learned, the Dursleys were dead and he knew and he felt responsible, though he didn't show it. Emmeline Vance had been sent to reason with them, they had refused to leave before Dudley's funeral and his being buried and Death Eaters had struck immediately, even Voldemort had turned up. The Dursleys were tortured and killed, not having any information of where he had gone. So that was that…

He hadn't been sure of his real motivations for leaving after all, sure the Dursleys didn't want him to stay, but he certainly had the power to do so against their wishes. He could have restrained them with magic, so was the dark spot in his mind right, that he had left to exact revenge upon them? Knowing they would not take his advice? Or could he simply not stand their presence anymore after ingesting these memories? Or did he feel too guilty to remain? The problem with all these new memories of course was that he could no longer remember distinctly how he had felt in any past situation, he only knew how he felt about them now…

"So I was just saying, I remember when James and I, we got obsessed with muggle motorbikes you know. So we led a few death eaters one time on a great chase through the alleys, disguised as muggles to ambush them!"

Sirius let out a great bark of laughter and Harry smiled while sipping his butterbeer. He was too uncertain himself to respond, whether he should have told him prior to dinner before everyone else was still weighing on his mind as he wondered how Sirius would react. If he was convinced for example that Harry was turning into a Tom Riddle…

"Anyways, that massive bruise on the side of your head looks as bad as a bludger injury, did your cousin…"

He grimaced, "yeah Dudley hit me hard enough that I couldn't defend us against the dementors…"

"But you have still no idea how you survived?"

"I'll talk to Dumbledore about it," Harry said earnestly. Moody who was sitting nearly opposite him, and who had been silent since he had been persuaded to stay for dinner piped up, "You survived a Dementor's attack without a Patronus, eh Potter?"

He nodded and Moody went on.

"Extremely rare thing, in my experience," he grunted. "Course they could just not have been hungry enough, but then at least one of them was, and dementors hunt in packs of at least two usually." He surveyed Harry closely again, his magical eye swirling in its socket madly. "Are you sure then, that the dementor was trying to take your soul?"

"It was over me and yeah it had its hood lowered, I saw its lips," he said cooly and suppressed a shudder. Moody only gave a small, somewhat maniacal grin and laughed.

"Well at the very least we can all say you're the Boy-Who-Lived twice over now!"

Mrs. Weasley who had been following the conversation from the other side of the room decided to intervene harshly, "For heaven's sake Mad Eye, don't go around glorifying him just for managing to survive," she said. "I honestly can't believe you lot would bring it up, as if he wanted to talk about it," she glared at them sternly and fixed them both with a stern eye. Sirius made a diffident, apologetic gesture than returned to attacking his stew while Mad Eye merely grunted again.

"But still, the Ministry will use your survival to deny you were even present during the dementor attack," Moody continued in a matter-of-fact way and took another swig of firewhiskey. Harry who had already eaten half a supper at the Leaky Cauldron politely declined another helping of stew that a very sympathetic Mrs. Weasley proffered.

Lupin who had also stayed for dinner uncharacteristically was pushing his spoon around looking pale and glum as he had no idea how he was to inform Harry after he had received an owl from Dumbledore. He decided obviously he had to save it for after dinner, and anyway hadn't Harry told him he wanted a conversation with him and Sirius? Something about the dementor attack that he wasn't willing to publicly share…

Sirius groaned and pushed himself back in his chair, feeling his waist. It was warm, the food was good, and the atmosphere was making him sleepy but he still had to make an attempt for Harry's sake whom he felt had no right to be left out of the Order's proceedings. He was just wondering how he was to go about introducing the topic when Harry caught his eye and almost without realizing it he gave his head an involuntary shake.

No?

Harry looked at him, his eyes were sharp and intense, and then he blinked. He seemed lost for a moment; Sirius had noticed multiple times through dinner which he thought was the aftermath of trauma from a dementor attack. Suddenly realizing himself again, he shook his head as if to recover.

Harry knew legilimency? No that was just impossible. He had decent occlumency shields in any case, but they had been lowered just now as he had been meditating on his supper…

It had to have been a coincidence. He looked at Harry again and he gave a weak smile and said quietly, "it's okay Sirius, I'll explain it upstairs after dinner. You don't have to ask them on my behalf." Sirius shrugged then took another slice of kidney pie but his mind was worked up in confusion.

Just who had taught Harry the mind arts? And how had he become a master; as far as he knew, few wizards possessed the ability to read skimming thoughts of the mind with just the briefest eye contact. Dumbledore for one could do it. And there was Voldemort of course…

.

After dinner and a lengthy conversation about more pleasant topics, they all arose yawning and stretching. Dinner had been late this evening to accommodate both Harry's arrival and the Order meeting. Harry rose to retire and gave Ron and Hermione meaningful looks and they trooped after him, speaking in ushered silence. Sirius and Lupin followed behind and they entered into one of the spare bedrooms, Sirius again was astonished that Harry knew the House so well.

Closing the door behind them, Harry cast the most advanced wards and charms that Voldemort even knew. These were so powerful that it would give a skilled wizard difficulty to even detect let alone try and break it. If they tried it would take a lengthy period of time and Harry knew Voldemort was confident that even Dumbledore could not break them without alerting him well beforehand. Sure enough, neither Lupin nor Sirius could detect that he had done anything.

He took a deep breath and wondered where to begin, before Lupin interrupted him with an awkward cough.

"I should tell you Harry beforehand, well it would be remiss to withhold... you're aunt and uncle are dead."

That news of course did not surprise Harry in the slightest. Even before accidentally unleashing legilimency, he knew from Voldemort's memories that he would definitely have gone after them. In reality, deep down he knew that in leaving them, he was essentially sentencing them to their deaths. Of course it wasn't like they would welcome him sticking around after what had happened…

Perhaps it was the lack of emotion on his features that perturbed Ron and Hermione. Harry did not speak, and then he made a gesture that they should move on and he did not seem to react to the news at all.

"First I want magical oaths from all of you," he said, "that nothing that is said in this room at this hour leaves this circle without my permission and that you will never betray me willingly in this regard." They all looked puzzled at the seriousness of the situation but they did not question him when they saw his determination. When they had sworn, Harry faced them again.

"Well to break it out, after the Dementor went for my soul, I lost consciousness. When I awoke however," and here he paused, "when I awoke I was possessed with someone else's memories."

They were all flabbergasted and Harry ignored their reactions as he wanted to finish quickly. "They were Voldemort's memories. All his memories in fact, I suspect, up to the point when he attacked my parents at Godric's Hallow and tried to kill me. Now obviously I haven't relived them all, but the more I encounter the more recollections are brought back up, and that's continuing up to this very second," he said this very quickly.

"Harry," Hermione said very softly and uncertainly, "are you sure…"

He turned to her and realized from Voldemort's legilimency skills that she was deeply skeptical and thought him touched in the head after the dementor attack. He also picked up that she would be extremely difficult to convince.

To save time he said simply, "Duel me."

Sirius and Lupin both perked up at this, Sirius looked a bit more convinced, though he was very shaken and uncertain by the revelations and they were both too dumbfounded to speak. Harry knew Sirius at least had known when he accidentally employed legilimency. Lupin also realized that based on how odd he had been acting, that it did explain things. Either that or Harry had changed immensely from puberty…

"I'm sorry, but…"

"You and Ron together," Harry said. "Well, I suppose I also want to experiment… I want to see how many more memories will resurface if I actually engaged in a duel."

Ron looked at Sirius and Lupin open-mouthed in shock, mouthing has he gone mad? Harry merely picked up his wand from his pocket and assumed a duelling stance.

It was never a stance that Hermione had seen him employ before. It was distinctly odd…

"Are you serious about this mate," Ron said somewhat hoarsely, "me and Hermione together you said?"

He merely nodded and then assumed an impatient tone, "It doesn't matter about the Statute, no one will check as we're in a wizarding home. Come on, let's go."

Ron sent an uncertain stunner at him which he sidestepped and instantly his mind remembered. All the moves, tactics, knowledge, and experience, it was all coming back to him quickly on an instinct, too fast for Harry to even be conscious of it. He was not even momentarily disorientated as it seemed he knew it all by instinct and Harry realized that Voldemort would not have structured his knowledge and memories to allow himself to be distracted in a duel. Just about everything was different now, wand movements to even how he gripped it…

Hermione while reluctant at first, had been encouraged by a nod from Lupin. Rather impressed with his reflexes which seemed even sharper than normal considering how relatively confined they were in the room, she sent a full body bind and Harry put up a shield immediately, barely moving his wand in the process. Then she realized with shock that he was employing silent casting which she could barely do…

Ron sent a few more spells but they failed to make even a dent and he was staring at everyone with bewilderment.

Harry lowered the shield and grinned in a satisfied way. He now understood just what Voldemort must have felt, a master among mortals.

Ron and Hermione began to cast a flurry of spells, their best combinations, shouting themselves hoarsely almost to death. It wasn't just their incantations that betrayed them, Harry could see in every split second exactly which spell they intended to use and how they would use it with his latent legilimency.

He never felt so comfortable in a duel, where everything he did was effortless and he was perfectly composed, there was never a second where he felt a hint of danger or fear. Every move was telegraphed to him beforehand and instantly his mind conceived at least seven counters to everything they did, and he could pick and choose any one of them at his leisure.

He fought not to win, but merely to test his defensive abilities, all that Voldemort knew and he was teasing out more and more memories every second this duel lasted…

Sirius and Lupin then both suddenly jumped in the attack and he was fighting four at once. This gave him a second of surprise, and then he realized he could deal with all of them handily. Except for his initial dodge of Ron's stunner, he hadn't moved an inch as he battered away their attacks effortlessly. He then felt a surge of contempt for their abilities, Voldemort's judgement, and he suppressed it.

He decided to end things quickly now. With a single spell he sent Ron staggering where he collapsed unconscious. Warding off both Sirius and Lupin at once he send a wandless expelliarmus that caught Hermione off-guard as she hadn't expected him to use wandless magic.

Against the two Marauders who fought well as a pair, Harry realized he couldn't employ legilimency as the two men had been well-trained. Harry felt a surge of adrenaline as the irresistible sensations raced through his mind and body as he was enjoying this fight. There were a number of ways he could end this duel quickly, a few would result in the destruction of this room. A few more were just… brutal and dark.

He opted for the cleanest way, he conjured a couple of non-lethal snakes. He tried to tell them to distract but not to bite. But then he realized he couldn't speak to them and thrown off balance, he was almost struck by a stray curse from Sirius, as he realized he had lost the ability to speak to snakes automatically.

He vanished them both hissing fruitlessly. But both Harry Potter and Voldemort could speak it, so what had changed? Harry reviewed his memories as he continued the duel almost mechanically. Both of his opponents were rapidly running out of stamina. He found he could still understand the Parselmouth that he recalled from Voldemort's memories, his conversations with Nagini and the basilisk. And with Morfin Gaunt… Interesting. But he had apparently lost the innate ability to speak it now.

He flicked his wand again, and with a flash both Sirius and Lupin were thrown back, stunned. It was a few seconds before they could recover. He pocketed his wand and reviewed all that he had learnt, or rather remembered.

Hermione revived the others from their stupor but neither Ron and Hermione were looking at him. It took him a few seconds before he could realize what was wrong. They were both afraid of him.

"Now," he said in a deliberately warmer tone as he surveyed them all breathing heavily while he was completely unaffected and at ease. "You believe me."

"Unbelievable," Sirius said picking himself off the ground, "think about it Moony, this is what it feels to take on Voldemort himself." Lupin just looked shaken and frightened at the display. Harry suppressed an urge to tell his godfather that he had been holding back the whole time as he was aiming to recover memories, get a better grasp of what Voldemort could do, and that there was still much he couldn't remember and had to work out by himself.

"Look at me," he said to Ron and Hermione in a more commanding tone than he expected. "I'm still Harry you hear, changed for sure. But I still remember all the things we did together okay? I still love flying, which Voldemort hated, I still hate Snape, speaking of Snape, well I'm glad he didn't stay for dinner… Anyways you two should relax, well think about it this way, at the very least you won't have to worry about me anymore…"

Hermione finally cracked a smile while Ron was looking at him very oddly indeed with raised eyebrows. Then he came forward and shook his hand while Hermione hugged him again. At the very least he was learning how not to use legilimency at every moment like Voldemort did, so he could actually have a normal conversation like he used to.

"I've been thinking," Lupin said thoughtfully but he too was composed now, "maybe we should talk to Professor Dumbledore…"

"I will tell him for sure. I have a lot of information now that will destroy Voldemort. I guarantee it." They all smiled in unison.

"But Harry after this, after all that, the war and everything," Sirius said looking a bit anxious not knowing how to proceed, "Are you sure you want to keep all those memories, everything that Voldemort did…"

"You're thinking I could erase the more traumatic parts while preserving the useful ones," Harry said thinking to himself while again reviewing everything Voldemort knew about the mind which was considerable. "Based on, well his memories, it would be impossible to erase certain memories without that affecting others which means we might miss crucial information that I haven't yet recovered. In addition, I suspect using my intuition now, that my own memories have already been too deeply interwoven to his by now. Which means many of my memories would have to be deleted too, or else I could recall them… It's complicated, but I don't think it can be easily done."

"We both suspected something was wrong," Lupin said, "both Sirius and I were talking about it before dinner. I actually thought you were a death eater at first who had taken, well Harry's memories and I was a second from pulling out my wand…"

"You were so calm through everything and so unemotional, and…" here Sirius laughed, "well so mature for your age! I thought it was the puberty in all honesty…"

"Yeah, mate," Ron said relaxing now, "totally changed. I mean totally off, that's what I thought about you. I thought it was the dementors… turns out I was half right…"

"I suppose the reason I'm not more shocked and appalled by this is that you seemed very… well confident, assured, knowledgeable than from before and I mean no offence of course" Hermione said quickly.

"I was trying to avoid giving that impression, but I was constantly distracted by new memories."

She nodded understandingly and Harry turned now finally to Lupin again. "Well I wanted to get that out of the way before anything else, so tell me about my aunt and uncle. How did they die exactly?"

They all turned sombre and Lupin reported, "Less than 24 hours ago, Death Eaters attacked Four Privet Drive. Emmeline Vance was unsuccessful in convincing them to flee; they… wanted to bury their son first. Well, Voldemort may have made an appearance. Vance was forced to leave, the bodies of the Dursleys were found later, the Muggle news mentioned it actually. We think they were tortured first, but evidently they didn't know where you were."

"How did the Ministry come to realize what happened so quickly?"

"We think Lucius Malfoy or another Death eater working undercover tipped off Fudge and he sent the oblivators to wipe Mrs. Figg's memory," Ron said. Then realizing what he had done, he blurted, "Oops. I mean Fred and George…" But Sirius just smirked at that while Hermione seemed reproachful.

Both Ron and Hermione expressed their condolences about his relatives which he accepted with good grace. Of course none of them were particularly sincere as they knew or suspected at least that they were very unpleasant people who had mistreated him all his life. Sirius in particular was still grudging as he recounted that he should have been the one to provide for Harry and keep him safe.

"Well they weren't the best of people, I'll admit," Harry said. "But I am sorry they're now gone especially since it's also partly due to me that they're dead." The party then broke into an awkward silence as no one knew how to exactly respond to that.

Finally it was Hermione that broke through their silence to wonder about the exact nature of how Harry had acquired those memories, simply from a Dementor's attack. While Harry only had unsatisfying answers to give, admitting that he had no idea how he had obtained them. He could only suspect that Voldemort had given him some of his power, as Dumbledore had claimed, after failing to kill him and it was unlocked somehow by the Dementor trying to take his soul? None of it made sense of course. But it was the best thing he could come up with; there was also the added mystery of why he could no longer talk to snakes when Voldemort's powers had just been unlocked to him.

Ultimately as it was getting late and Mrs. Weasley was due to make her rounds to ensure they were going to bed, the party broke up and Sirius, Ron, and Hermione agreed to meet later again with Harry to participate in more memory experiments. Lupin left the house, puzzling over all that he had heard. He desperately wanted to owl Dumbledore to get some of his thoughts on the matter, but he had given his word. The house, viewed from the outside was cloaked in shadow now as the streetlights made an impression on its walls before the space closed up again. Lupin had in mind so many questions, and it was agonizing that he had received comparatively few answers and so he resolved to visit again in a few days time.


End file.
